Port in a Storm
by Jest'lyn Tal
Summary: Even when she was a little girl, Dualla knew what she wanted to be to those who would love her..


Port in a Storm

(( Standard Disclaimers Apply - I own nothing ))

She was only nine when the riots at the Colos Food Distribution center spilled out into the streets and engulfed every Saggitaron, adult or child, into the world of violence that had always previously been just a threatening smudge on the horizon. Walking home from her school to the small flat that her father worked thirteen hour days to keep for them, she and her friends hadn't realized what the low rumble of sound, the high pitched screeching of metal and shouts of men had meant. Rebellion. Revolution. Protests. Death.

By the time they'd rounded the corner and been faced with thousands of angry people running down the street with flames, guns, bats, and glass, there was no chance to run. No where they could hide or avoid being swept up. Cassi had whimpered, Gemma had begun to scream. But Anastasia? She'd grabbed for her friends hands. They'd be fine if they stuck together. Just like every other scrape they'd been involved in. Gemma was always getting them tangled in some sort of adventure, Cassi would have her trauma of the week, but Anastasia? Anastasia would be the stable heart of them all. She wasn't pretty like Cassi nor strong like Gemma. But she was solid. They could hold on to her.

Just hold on.

But she wasn't strong enough. A screaming young man brandishing a broken pipe slammed into her and sent her sprawling. Cassi collapsed, trying to cover her head. Anastasia had only a glimpse of her blond hair flinging blood before she was lost to view forever. Gemma had howled but couldn't be found in the heartbeat Anastasia had to look from side to side.

She hadn't been strong enough. She hadn't been steady enough. She'd been thrown into the madness and they had been swept from her. Never to be seen again.

Her reaction was almost a mirror of Cassi's with the sole exception that she didn't fall to the ground. All sound seemed to fade from existence, leaving only a dull rush of void for her ears. Time meant nothing. The fact that she was being buffeted from side to side, slowly beaten to death, barely registered.

She'd let go of her friends. She'd always been there for them but she wasn't there now. If she'd only been stable enough for them... She fell and her outstretched hands found broken glass instead of pavement. Before that even had a chance to register, a kick sent her to her side and the glass grated into the back of her head. She screamed instinctively for the loss of it all.

Then she was grabbed. Hauled up like a sack of potatoes by the tall dark haired form of a Colonial Warrior. "Hold on!" he shouted and curled in around her to take the brunt of force as he sought one of the precious few sheltered places left. His gun was in his hand but he didn't shoot it. Perhaps he didn't mean to add to the chaos already happening.

She clung to him.

She didn't let go of him.

And he didn't let go of her.

She never did find out who he was. He likely never found out who she was either. When the rush of the mob had passed? She'd been handed over to the medical teams rushing through. The Warrior had run, likely to try and catch up with a commanding officer.

Her father didn't understand why Anastasia thought that the military would give her something to believe in. She couldn't explain it. She also couldn't explain why it wasn't just having a place to invest herself, heart and soul, that appealed to her.

It was a place where she could be a strong point for others. The calm in the storm. The solid pillar to help carry the burden.

A place where she could be trained and where she wouldn't fail.

Now the calm pillar, the woman she'd become, stood in the darkened room and watched her husband cling to another. To a woman who was nearly the antithesis of everything Anastasia had tried to be. Strong for others, not for herself. One who built up those around her, not one who used their strength to augment her own.

A cruel assessment, perhaps. But as Anastasia stood there, it felt right.

She'd tried to be a strong point for Lee. Something he could hold on to. Always. Someone he could rely on.

And she had been.

But she'd known him all too well.

Lee was a warrior.

Starbuck was a war.

And once more things were being pulled from Anastasia's hands.

She didn't know how long she stood there before she turned, shoulders squared and head held up proudly. She walked from the room and down the corridors. She hadn't planned to arrive in CIC.

But once more? The military would be her shield. No matter how shattered the insides were, the military was always her shield.


End file.
